The Heart Of The Ocean
by Stockholmwriting
Summary: The love story of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler is nothing like the clichés. Could they have had a chance if they met somewhere else and in an entire different time? Or would their love sink with RMS Titanic to be forgotten forever. Better than summary.
1. Chapter 1

A weak and vulnerable light searched its way through the thick darkness. The light in question was a candle, held by a young woman in an outgrown night suit. She gasped heavily and walked fast, afraid of the darkness that threatened to stifle her already strained breath. Though she now was a lady, she was still frightened by the night. So many years had passed since the last time she had been there, in the old manor. The house held despair and a sorrow that was too great to put into words.

She tiptoed through the empty corridors even faster as she heard the wind whistle in the mighty tree crowns outside the manor. She approached the familiar wooden door that led to her grandmother's gigantic room. She knocked gently, but too hard to hide her fear. Her grandma's low reply sounded too loud in the immortal silence of the dead house. The girl sighed, visibly relieved.

"Enter, my dear child." She opened the creaky door and slunk into the old woman's chamber. They scrutinized each other, waiting for the other to say something. The younger of them cleared her throat.

"Grandma." She stuttered and climbed up in the enormous bed. "Grandma, I can't sleep." Her grandmother chuckled; it was just as old days, though Jane Norton-Holmes was slightly older now than she had been all those years ago. The old grandmother hesitated, she had never been much of a storyteller and she realised that "Sleeping Beauty" or "Snow White" weren't very suitable to tell a woman of the age of nineteen.

"Do you want me to tell a story?"

"Like a fairy tale?" Jane groaned and rolled her eyes.

"No. Like a real story."

"Is it true then?" There was a long pause as Irene Holmes hesitated. Was this really the time? _Yes,_she decided and looked lovingly at her youngest grandchild. Irene Holmes had waited for this very moment for as long as she could remember.

"Yes, it's a true story." Jane's grey eyes widened and she gasped loudly.

"Is it _the_story?"

"I think so." Irene smiled briefly and took Jane's warm hand in her own, cold and ancient. Jane snorted and Irene's heart ached slightly when she did. She reminded her of him. They, somehow, had the exact same eyes.

"How could you possibly not _know_ which story it is?" Jane's voice smoldered with sarcasm, though she smiled warmly and grasped Irene's hand tighter. Irene did not smile back.

"I'm old, Jane. Older than you think."

"Like a dinosaur or something like that." Jane interrupted Irene and grinned, obviously amused by her own joke. Irene shot her an ice-cold glare.

"Do you want to hear the story or not."

"I want to."

"Then shut up, dear." Jane laughed quietly before she fell silent with a much graver expression shining through her young features.

"Like I said before, I'm old. And somehow, I still remember every detail of it, the smell of fresh paint and the very sound of the sea. I even remember the colour of the seats. I recall every minute I spent on RMS Titanic." Jane couldn't help herself. Her mouth fell open and she looked completely perplexed.

"Titanic!" She exclaimed and blinked several times, trying to remember her history classes in high school. Her teacher back then had been a gorgeous man called Benedict Cumberbatch who was especially good at modern catastrophes. "Titanic." He had told them, "Was a fantastic new project in the beginning of the 20: th century, though there had been..."

"Almost no survivors." She stated in disbelief and stared at her grandmother.

"Yes." Irene whispered and she could feel the tears burn behind her eyelids. She closed her eyes and stopped to fight the sorrow she had been hiding in the house for so many decades, and a single tear ran down her cheek. She could feel Jane's small hand gently brush it away and she laid her other hand onto Irene's barely wet and wrinkled cheek.

"What happened, Grandma? On Titanic." She clarified, suddenly sounding apprehensive. Irene trembled and buried her face in her white and virtually ghostlike hands. Jane spoke again, louder and more confident this time.

"What happened on Titanic?" Irene abruptly laughed shakily, though Jane couldn't find the situation itself _funny_or _amusing_ in the slightest way. Irene looked up, her eyes searching Jane's. She sighed, almost happily.

"It is strange, he is not related to you in any way but I still see him so clearly in you. He was the same; incredible clever, sarcastic, funny and awfully stubborn. You have his eyes." She added distantly.

"What are you talking about; Grandfather _was_related to me. I'm entirely sure of that." Jane was now really considering the possibility that the old woman was going totally mad. Irene shook her head slowly, fighting the sudden smile that tugged at her lips.

"I'm not talking about your grandfather." Jane was flabbergasted for the second time that stormy autumn night.

"Who are you talking about then?" Irene didn't answer at once. She glanced out of the window thoughtfully, and the pain tenderly cut her into pieces.

"You know I never changed my name when I married your grandfather. We were always Holmes and Norton. But the truth is that Holmes never was my real name. My name was Irene Adler, and I was seventeen years old when I met him on Titanic."

"_Who?_" Jane cried impatiently, dying to know who Irene was talking about. Irene took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

"Sherlock Holmes."

**Honestly, I was very satisfied that I managed to write this, because I couldn't make up my mind whether or not Sherlock would survive or die. Then I thought, "She was the woman who beat him" and decided to let Irene live. First of all, this is the only chapter (apart from the last) that will be written as if it was today. The following chapters will take place on**_**Titanic**_**. Secondly, it will not be the classic love story, because I want to write Sherlock and Irene like they were portrayed in**_**"A Scandal in Belgravia."**_**Also, no reviews, no update. Sorry guys but I must hear your thoughts! The actual reason why I wanted to write this is mostly because it's exactly a hundred years since**_**Titanic**___**sank. Remember to review!**

**XoXoXo (Yes, I'm the kissing and hugging type)**

**Frida**


	2. Chapter 2

It was a luminous and warm daybreak in Southampton, the tenth of April 1912. The harbor was usually a quiet and still locality, but today was _the_ day. The day when RMS Titanic was heading for New York City in America. Excited voices could be heard anywhere and the entire population of Southampton were crowded along the bridge. However, a person who wasn't very happy about the enormous ship that loomed in front of her approached the port in the very moment. Irene Adler climbed out of the cab with a dour expression in her eyes. For her, today was the day when she would return to her prison in America, locked up with a man who she never would love. The second issue wasn't really a complication for Irene Adler. She was alone strong and in her opinion, love was the greatest weakness mankind ever would experience.

"Jim?" She called with a dull voice and searched the crowd for her partner and fiancé, Professor James Moriarty.

"Yes?" He answered and handed Irene her hat. She nodded as saying "thank you" and started to walk up to the boat.

"What do you think?" He asked with a smirk and ran his hands in his pockets.

"It's perfect. Nobody will suspect anything." She shrugged and dropped the subject. She was tired of the endless energy Jim held when it came to crimes. She knew he was mad, of course. That didn't bother her in the slightest. She just didn't consider murder and stealing being amusing anymore. It was dull, and surprisingly boring after a couple of years.

When they had examined their cabin, Irene decided to take a walk on deck. She knew that Jim didn't care about her strolling around on her own, thank heaven for _that_, so she felt surprised when he asked.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm just going to look around for a bit, darling."

"Fine then, just try to behave yourself. I've heard about this man who loves to play detective. He's travelling with us to entertain us." Jim smiled innocently and Irene snorted, disinterested. She wasn't very fond of Jim's ideas of having fun.

"I'm not worried, what's his name?"

"He calls himself 'Sherlock Holmes'." Irene didn't reply and she abruptly disappeared out of the cabin, letting the sun kiss the surface of her pale skin. As she walked, she thought through the plan once more. Jim's plan. It was brilliant as always, he was truly a proper genius. He had not a bland mind; he just liked doing meaningless things. Like killing people. But he needed her, he needed "The Woman" to accomplish his biggest interests. She scoffed when she thought of her nickname. It was not her idea, obviously. She felt like his puppet. But again, she had gotten used to it. Suddenly, she felt heartbroken. She was seventeen, and her entire life was already carved out for her. She fought the tears. It was forbidden to cry. Or to show any emotions at all.

"Sherlock, where are you?" John felt panicked and his confused gazes flickered all over the deck of the ship.

"I'm here, John" Sherlock Holmes's voice sounded calm and sharp, as always. John sighed with relief and turned around to face the detective and his good friend.

"We should have something to eat." He suggested and tried to ignore Sherlock's sarcastic glance and the very fact that he rolled his eyes.

"I'm not hungry."

"Yes, I know." Sherlock ignored John's statement and scrutinized the boat thoughtfully. He smiled an almost happy smile before he rubbed his long, nervous hands together.

"I sense there's something coming, Watson. Something big." He admitted and chuckled to himself.

"How entertaining for you." John scoffed and briefly looked at his watch. "We should be leaving any minute."

"Who cares?" Sherlock exclaimed and walked over to the rail. "I've been bored for six months." John followed him impatiently.

"Your latest case was a week ago." He pointed out and studied the massive crowd that cheered on the bridge below them. "Seems as if were leaving."

"I beg your pardon?" The entire boat began to rumble and the engine started to hum frisky. Sherlock didn't seem to notice at all.

"We're leaving." John clarified and cleared his throat. "I'm starving and extremely thirsty. I'll see you downstairs in the cabin later?" He made it sound like a question but didn't wait for Sherlock to answer. He knew his friend well.

Sherlock Holmes hadn't been lying when he had told John Watson about the feeling he had. He was sure that something was going to happen. He just wasn't aware of what. To be honest, he wasn't very excited about leaving England. He was born here, and grew up in the north of London. When he was a boy, his parents had realized that he was special. Sherlock Holmes was nothing like the mainstream. He was a unique, reasoning and observing machine, forever searching a distraction. He currently worked as a detective, though he never had encountered another human being who could compete with his cold, precise but admirably balanced intellect. He had met Dr. Watson during a case many years ago, and they were now close friends and companions. John was going to get married in America with a delightful but hopelessly naïve young lady named Mary Morstan, and he insisted upon that Sherlock was following with him as his best man.

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted by quiet steps, and his head instantly turned in the direction of the passive sound, almost like a reflex. It was a woman. She was rather young, perhaps in her twenties and she had long, dark brown hair, her skin was pale, she wore a delicate marine blue dress and she was absolutely stunning and utterly beautiful.

How dull.

Sherlock didn't bother to look at her for a long time, he knew her type well. Young, probably engaged and only interested in money and needlework. Just as he decided to go and find John to annoy him (There wasn't really anything entertaining happening on deck, not even a little theft) the woman suddenly met his gaze. He froze and stared at her in wonder. Her eyes were the same color as his, though he actually for once never bothered to notice it. It was the expression that shone from her eyes, they held a look he would recognize anywhere. She was bored. And heartbroken. He felt an urge to go and talk to her. How odd. Sherlock Holmes had never felt it before, but he sensed that she and he were the same. They simply stared at each other, he lost track of time and he desperately tried to deduce something about her character. For the first time in his life, he failed. Frustrated with himself, he closed his eyes. What was wrong with him? No, what was wrong with _her_? He opened his eyes widely, wanting to understand her so badly. But when he hungrily searched her eyes again, she was already gone.

**AN: What do you think? I want to know! Thank you the people who have been reviewing, I really appreciate it. Also, HELP! It is so difficult writing about Moriarty, do you think I managed? Perhaps a little out of character in the end, but I really think that Sherlock is obsessed with his "Science of deduction" and therefore obsessed with Irene the first time they meet.**

**XoXoXo**

**Frida**


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